


And Run Through Fire For Thy Sweet Sake

by small_blue_owl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), But we still love them, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rated T To Be Safe, Romeo and Juliet References, Shakespeare Quotations, The Night After the Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), like a lot, like they're so dumb, maybe too many, only one use of f word, or is there such thing?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/small_blue_owl/pseuds/small_blue_owl
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have been dancing around a certain subject for thousands of years. Then, after the world failed to end, they finally say what has gone unspoken for centuries.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic starts out sad but it gets better in chapter two, I promise. I meant this to just be fluffy but angst somehow finds its way into everything I do... oh well. Chapter one is set sometime in the 1980s, and chapter two is set the night after Armageddon't. I make a ton of references to Romeo and Juliet cause I can and so many lines fit these two so perfectly. If you find them all, I am proud of you cause some are a bit obscure... (and there is one midsummer reference in there too). Anyway, hope you enjoy.

The bookshop was quite definitely closed. Aziraphale had been filling out paperwork all day and had closed the shutters quite a few hours ago. It seemed Upstairs always had more paperwork for him to do; he hadn’t the faintest idea why.

A slight knock came at the door.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” called Aziraphale without raising his eyes.

In response, the door opened. Shocked, Aziraphale looked up.

“Hey, angel,” said Crowley, closing the door behind him.

Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to do. “Well this is quite unexpected,” he stammered putting down his pen, “I’m afraid I’m rather busy at the moment.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“What with?”

Aziraphale sighed and wrung his hands. “Paperwork from…” he glanced skyward, “Gabriel sent a whole lot of it yesterday and I have to return it tomorrow. I am dreadfully sorry. I’ll be finished soon,” said the angel, apologetically. He truly hated to disappoint Crowley.

The demon’s face fell slightly. “Oh. Well, I can go,” he said trying to sound like it didn’t matter either way.

The angel frowned. “No, just wait here a moment,” he said, “I’ll be finished with it here soon. If you don’t mind waiting, that is,” he added quickly. The demon nodded as casually as he could. “No, I don’t mind,” he replied.

The angel smiled, blushing slightly, and returned to his paperwork, as studious as ever. Crowley couldn’t help letting a slight smile drift to his face. He couldn’t help it. He had shut that door to his heart decades ago, locked it securely, but every now and again a little bit of light would creep under the door and Crowley would try not to wish for the source of light on the other side. The demon sighed softly and dropped his gaze.

Slowly he began to walk around the bookshop trying to distract himself with all the ancient volumes that filled the shelves. It was indeed an impressive collection. The angel had been curating it for thousands of years after all. He paused in front of the fireplace, gazing into the coals before sitting down on the sofa before it.

It was then that he saw the little book.

It sat on one of the cushions of the sofa as though someone had been reading it there, gotten up in a hurry and forgotten to put it back. It was not a very thick book and it looked weathered as though it had been read many times over. A small blue bookmark lay between its pages and whatever had been written on the cover had been lost to time. At first Crowley didn’t take much notice of it but, after some minutes, his curiosity got the better of him as it always had, so he leaned across the sofa and picked up the little volume.

This must be whatever Aziraphale is reading these days, thought Crowley to himself, as he opened the book. He wasn’t really a fan of reading, never had been, but he thought he might as well pass the time. The paper in the book was almost transparent the parchment was so thin. Whatever it was, this book had been around for a very long time. Crowley turned a few pages.

_Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

He felt as though he had read these words before or heard them somewhere. This definitely wasn’t the book he would have expected the angel to be reading. Maybe another customer had been reading it. But no one else came back here, and Aziraphale did a pretty good job of keeping customers out of the shop completely.

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;_

_Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows_

_Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife._

Oh.

This was the prologue to Romeo and Juliet.

Crowley rolled his eyes and almost tossed the book back on the sofa. That story annoyed him immensely, or at least so he thought; he’d never read the play, just heard everyone taking about it. He had never been a fan of Shakespeare in general, really. He had seemed like a decent guy on the few occasions that Crowley had met him, but he didn’t think the Bard was anything special. Why would the angel waste his time with something so overrated? Crowley turned a few more pages.

 _Why, such is love’s transgression…What is it else? a madness most discreet, a choking gall and a preserving sweet._ It was so overdramatic. Crowley’s eyes traveled further down the page. _Be ruled by me. Forget to think of her._ It was good advice, Crowley thought.

_O, teach me how I should forget to think._

He has a point, thought Crowley to himself. Almost absentmindedly, he glanced up at the angel who still sat at his desk, a shaft of light making his gold curls glow, his clear blue eyes cast down at the paper, oblivious to everything.

O, teach me how I should forget to think.

Crowley’s mind forgot to think of anything else for a moment. He had to remind himself not to wish. Pointless to long for the impossible. Turning a few more pages, Crowley let his eyes wander through the words.

_Is she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foes debt._

It’s just s story, Crowley kept telling himself; it isn’t real.

_My only love sprung from my only hate!_

_Too early seen unknown and known too late!_

_Prodigious birth of love it is too me_

_That I must love a loathed enemy._

The words stung.

Crowley quickly shut the book as though he feared it would speak the words he had just read. Although he hadn’t read them out loud, the rhyming lines still rung in his ears. He had never been affected so much by words. He had no idea that a few lines could cause his heart to race and his ears to grow hot and his mind to buzz. When he had first heard this play, he had dismissed it as a ridiculous love story and a magnified version of reality. Two people in love whose families hated each other; it was so overdramatic. But Crowley hadn’t been in love then. And whether or not he would admit it to himself, he was now. He knew the story but reading the words was different. Those words suddenly took on a new meaning as the demon read them. He could no longer honestly say it was stupid. He knew the feeling of longing for an enemy far too well. Slowly, he picked up the book again, turning to the page marked with the blue ribbon.

_Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day._

_It was the nightingale and not the lark,_

_That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;_

Crowley wondered how they knew they were in love so fast. He knew how long it took to realize one was in love. Love at first sight was a foolish human fantasy and a stupid cliche. How could Shakespeare have believed in that but written so accurately about the rest? It didn’t make any sense. Crowley flipped a few more pages. Why was Aziraphale reading this? Did he see the parallels? No, more likely he thought it was just a good story. Crowley didn’t even let himself dream. Aziraphale had been oblivious so far… why would he change now? He glanced back at the page.

_Let me have dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear as will disperse itself through all the veins that the life-weary taker may fall dead._

Insurance.

His heart sank as he realized he had asked for a similar poison, many years ago. He hadn’t intended to use it on himself but if things had gone differently…

“Why Crowley, since when do you read?” the angel’s voice cut through his thoughts. Crowley looked up, trying to get himself back to the real world, and appear unimpressed by the book.

“Just thought I’d pass the time. ‘Til you were finished with your paperwork,” he said, setting the book back on the sofa. The angel colored a little when he saw which book it was.

“Oh. Well.”

Aziraphale dropped his eyes and murmured something about putting the book back on the shelf. He went to go put the book back, making a point of not looking at the demon.

“It’s a silly story if you ask me,” said Crowley reclining on the sofa.

“Is it?” replied Aziraphale from behind a shelf of books.

Crowley scoffed. “Yeah, of course it is. It’s nothing like reality. Nobody actually falls in love that fast. The Bard has no idea what he’s talking about,” he remarked, trying to forget the words he knew he never would.

“And you do?” replied the angel shortly, glancing side-long at the demon without turning his head, “Really, Crowley, thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel.”

Crowley was glad the angel couldn’t see his eyes for he feared they would have shown his thoughts. _But I do feel, angel,_ he thought to himself, _You can’t even imagine._

“It’s just so overdramatic,” he said as disdainfully as he could. “Why are you even reading it, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up suddenly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. “Oh, I was just…” he stammered, “There was just a line that I… that I wanted to remember,” he said dismissively. “I do think it is a good story,” he added.

Crowley tried to roll his eyes but couldn’t somehow. “Really, Aziraphale?” he asked trying to be cynical, “You really think it’s good?”

The angel sighed. Of course he thought it was good. Aziraphale had always been sympathetic to characters in books and plays but not like this. It was when he first read the play that he realized the power that words could have. It was as if the Bard had read the angel’s subconscious thoughts. Reading the play was like reading his own emotions turned into poetry. But of course the angel said none of this. Crowley would have just laughed at him. The demon couldn’t understand why Aziraphale treasured those words. He sighed, his gaze fixed on the bookshelf across the room where the little book still sat.

“Yes, I do. I think Shakespeare was quite a brilliant man. He articulates things quite beautifully,” replied the angel. He wished so much he could say the thoughts that filled his mind. All the things that were too dangerous to be spoken hovered in the air between them, barely out of reach.

Crowley glanced at the angel’s face. There was something hidden there that he couldn’t quite place. It looked as though the angel had put down a wall in his mind and Crowley couldn’t help but wonder what was on the other side. Crowley was dangerously close to saying something. The thoughts were all there, spinning in his mind, begging to be given words. He knew what he wanted to say, knew what he shouldn’t say, knew they were the same thing. His heart ached with all the pining from the past six thousand years. But he shut the door to his heart as he had been doing for God or Satan or someone knew when, forcing himself not to say the words that he wished so much he could.

“Well, I should let you get back to your paperwork,” he said standing up quickly and moving towards the door.

The angel raised his head. “I’ll see you around then, I suppose?” he asked quietly.

Crowley nodded, trying to regain his casual demeanor. “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” he replied with as much of a smile as he could pull together.

He closed the door behind himself and stood on the other side for a minute to collect his thoughts. He tried to forget about the little bit of light creeping under the door, reminding him what could be. So many times he had tried to open that door but every time, he doubted himself. Every time. Slowly, he walked away from the bookshop, wondering how much longer that thin line of light around the door would be enough.

***********


	2. Chapter 2

“You can stay at my place, if you’d like,” offered Crowley quietly.

The look on Aziraphale’s face, however made him almost regret the words a moment later. “I’m not sure my side would like that,” said the angel, his eyes on the ground. Even though he had been slowly distancing himself from Upstairs for years, Aziraphale still hadn’t really admitted to himself that he had broken ties with Heaven entirely.

“You don’t have a side anymore. We’re on our own side,” said Crowley in a gentle tone that Aziraphale rarely heard.

The angel smiled faintly. The world had failed to end almost a full hour ago. It had been a very long day to say the least and Aziraphale thought perhaps it would be wise to sleep for a bit. “Well if you don’t mind…” he said faintly.

The demon tried to hide a smile. “Of course not. You’re always welcome.”

The bus ride back to Mayfair was very quiet. Both angel and demon were still processing what had happened today and what the repercussions might be. Tucked in Aziraphale’s pocket was the charred piece of a page with a few words written on it. He had barely read them but they were from Agnes Nutter so they must be of some use.

Crowley was slowly starting to realize what had actually happened at the airbase and that neither Upstairs nor Downstairs was done with them. There was no way they were going to get off that easy. He only hoped they had time to come up with a plan. The bus came to a stop and Crowley was pulled from his own thoughts.

“This is our stop,” he said softly to Aziraphale who had drifted off, “Come on, angel.”

He gave Aziraphale his hand to help him up. The angel took it and got up on his feet. It was only when they were off the bus and half-way up the stairs to his apartment that Crowley realized.

He had just held Aziraphale’s hand for the first time. Nothing had been meant by it but even so.

Crowley snapped his fingers to unlock the door. “After you,” he said quietly. Aziraphale stepped inside.

The whole room was dimly lit and very sparsely furnished. It felt bare and cold and angular to Aziraphale’s eyes that were so used to the color and home-like quality of the bookshop. The room felt so much larger without any furnishings, and Aziraphale suddenly felt very small. The door shut with a click.

“Make yourself at home,” said Crowley as he made his way to the couch that was against one wall. Aziraphale followed him, lost in thought, and gingerly sat down.

“Crowley?” His voice sounded small and scared.

“Hm?” asked the demon, looking up.

“What will happen to us tomorrow?” said Aziraphale in a voice that he tried to keep steady.

There was a long pause. Finally, Crowley spoke. “I suspect they’ll want revenge for messing up their Great Plan,” he said slowly, “How they plan to take it, I don’t know.”

Aziraphale nodded and they lapsed into silence again.

The shock of everything that had happened that day was wearing off and the angel was starting to realize that Heaven and Hell wouldn’t ignore them this time. Slowly, he took the little piece of paper from his pocket.

“What’s that?” asked Crowley, looking quizzically at the charred piece of paper.

“It fell out of Agnes Nutter’s book,” said Aziraphale, handing it to the demon, “I thought it might be helpful.”

Crowley took the tiny scrap of paper.

“ _Choose yer faces wisly for soon enouf ye shall be playing with fyre.”_ he read.

“Choose your faces wisely?” he mused, “It’s pointless unless we know what it means.”

Aziraphale looked up at the demon with a little bit of fear in his soft blue eyes.

“But we have time, don’t we?” he asked in a small voice, “To figure out what it means.”

Crowley couldn’t meet the angel’s gaze.

“I don’t know.”

A clock had begun to tick in the back of his mind, counting down the hours or minutes or seconds, he didn’t know. All he knew was that time was running out and he had no way of knowing how much time was left. It was like seeing only the lower half of an hourglass, fearfully watching the sand rain down, not knowing how much sand was yet to fall. The piece of prophesy blurred in Crowley’s vision and he lifted a hand to his eyes. A cold, sinking feeling settled over his heart. He slowly realized that this might be the last time he’d ever see the being that meant everything to him.

“Crowley?” The angel’s voice was concerned. Crowley knew the exact expression that was on his face, though he dared not look up. “Crowley, what’s the matter?”

Slowly, the demon removed his sunglasses and set them aside. They had always been a way to distance himself from the world, a divide that he hid emotions behind. But now he wanted the angel to see the emotion there. Even so, he kept his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet that soft blue gaze.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got but there’s something I’ve been…” his courage wavered “I’ve been wanting to tell you. For a while now. And… and in case I never” his voice broke and he drew a short breath “in case I…never see you…again, I… I thought you should know,” he said with much difficulty.

Aziraphale had frozen where he sat on the sofa. His mind was buzzing with a thousand possibilities. _Don’t get your hopes up,_ he scolded himself, _It’s not that. It can’t be that._

Crowley waited for the angel to reply but getting no reaction or response, he spoke again. “Remember the last time I was at your bookshop?” he began softly, “I picked up a play you’d been reading and told you it was silly.” Aziraphale colored slightly at the mention of that day. He remembered all too well. Crowley continued, trying to keep a small quaver from his voice. “Well it wasn’t silly. Far from it. Two people in love on opposite sides of an argument through no fault of theirs…” Crowley trailed off. “Fuck. Aziraphale, I don’t know how to say this.”

The words had been in Crowley’s mind for decades, centuries, but they couldn’t be articulated, somehow. Crowley had actively crushed them for so many years that setting them free felt wrong.

“I just used to think,” he continued the tears audible in his voice, “that they’re kind of…like…” the last word was hardest of all “…us.”

A small sort of tear-filled gasp escaped Aziraphale’s lips. No. This couldn’t be. He had to be dreaming.

“You…you really think that?” he managed to say.

“Of course I do,” replied the demon, passionately, “How could I not? You are…you are everything to me, angel. I can’t help it. I know I’ll never be good enough for you, but I can’t help myself.” He brushed a tear from his eyes. “It’s like you say though. I go too fast. It’s too dangerous. We could never be anything other than what we are.” He couldn’t stop the words now. “And I’m a demon. I’ll never deserve the love of an angel. I would only profane this holy shrine,” he said reverently, daring to glance at the angel, “with my unworthiest hand.”

Crowley knew he had overstepped. He had never felt so vulnerable before. But it was too late to unsay what had been said and so he could only helplessly let the words hang in the air. 

Very slowly, Aziraphale carefully placed his hand over Crowley’s.

“Good pilgrim,” he said softly, “You do wrong your hand too much.”

Crowley felt the door in his heart unlock and the light creep further across the floor. Aziraphale’s hand was light as a feather but even that soft touch sent a small thrill through Crowley’s whole being. The angel wore a peculiar expression that Crowley couldn’t place. It was either hope or pity, he didn’t know.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice was very, very quiet. “The first time I ever read that play, I…I couldn’t help but see the…well the similarities. But the end…” he paused for a moment, “I was always scared that if…if I ever said anything about it, we would only end up like that.” A tear ran down his cheek. “I just…I…That’s why I was so scared to give you holy water. I didn’t want to…to give you that unsavory guide,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you, Crowley. You mean so much to me…and…” the angel suddenly felt at a loss for words. He gently took the demons hand, entwining their fingers, hoping this would say what words couldn’t somehow.

Crowley could barely breathe. This couldn’t be real. But the angel’s hand was in his and he was so close, closer than he’d ever been to the being that lit up his world. He could feel time running out. The words that had been buried in his heart for millennia slowly found their way to his lips. He knew if he didn’t speak them now, he never would.

“Angel,” he whispered hoarsely, “I…love…you.”

The words were barely audible, but they shattered the glass wall that had stood between them for thousands of years. Aziraphale felt as though he was in a dream. He had wished for this moment but never thought it would ever actually happen.

Cautiously, Crowley raised his shining golden eyes to the angel’s face. “Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. And then the demon felt a pair of angelic lips pressed against his own. Crowley let out a little gasp before gently wrapping his arms around the angel, his face wet with tears. Aziraphale had just opened the door that Crowley thought would be locked forever and his whole heart was filled with light. He couldn’t help but melt into the angel’s arms, treasuring this moment, wishing the angel would kiss him for the rest of eternity. Eventually, they broke apart, and Crowley’s head rested on the angel’s shoulder.

“You love me,” he whispered, amazed, “You love me.”

Aziraphale smiled as he held the demon close. “Of course I do,” he replied softly.

There was a moment of stillness where both angel and demon stayed locked in each other’s arms. For a moment, Crowley let everything else fade; the Apocalypse, the arguments, the tears, the inevitable punishments, all of it, and focused only on the angel in his arms. His angel. Who he’d loved and longed for since the beginning of time. Who was his guiding star. Who loved him. Crowley wanted to commit this feeling to memory. This feeling of holding his angel, of being held, of feeling warm and safe for the first time since…well, since Heaven. He never wanted it to end.

“Angel,” he whispered, “Whatever happens tomorrow, I won’t let them hurt you. I can’t lose you again. A world without you isn’t worth saving.” He held the angel at arm’s length.

Aziraphale fought back the tears that were rising to his eyes again. “I…I don’t know if you can. I’m scared they’ll come after you too, drown you in holy water,” sobbed the angel.

Crowley took him in his arms again. “It’ll be ok. We’ll be ok,” he soothed although a new fear had begun to creep into his mind. If he was taken too, he couldn't help Aziraphale, couldn't protect him...

The angel shook with tears. “If only I could go with you,” Aziraphale whispered, “I would be able to protect you, or…”

Aziraphale trailed off and caught his breath. “Wait. Crowley I could go in your place. Go as you.”

An expression that was half shock, half confusion crossed the demon’s face.

“What? You can’t just go in my place angel. They would never--”

“Yes, but what if we switched. Corporations, I mean,” said the angel, “Choose your faces wisely.”

There was a look of such hope in the angel’s soft blue eyes.

“You’re suggesting,” said Crowley cautiously, “that we switch corporations?”

“I am.”

There was a pause. Crowley turned the thought over in his mind. Well if Upstairs used hellfire and Downstairs used holy water, they would be unharmed. But how could they even get holy water? Would they work with the angels? He doubted that. 

“But what if they don’t use hellfire or holy water,” suggested the demon softly. “I know what Downstairs would do to a traitor, and…I don’t want them to hurt you. If I sent you there and something happened to you…” he could feel the tears choking his voice again, “I would never forgive myself.”

Aziraphale dropped his eyes. “It’s worth a try,” he said softly. “And it fits Agnes Nutter’s prophesy. She hasn’t been wrong yet.”

Crowley’s gaze rested on the angel’s face. He wanted nothing more than to fold Aziraphale in his arms and stay with him for the rest of eternity. Very slowly, the angel held out his hand.

“I will happily go to Hell and back for you, Crowley,” he said in a tone that made the demon’s heart ache. There was so much love in the angel’s voice. Crowley couldn’t remember a time when anyone else had ever spoken to him like that.

“And I’ll happily go to Heaven and back for you,” he said very softly.

He took the angel’s hand and pulled him close. They were inches apart now. A small smile crept across Crowley’s face.

“And run through fire for thy sweet sake,” he said lovingly. Gently they both leaned forward, and their lips met.

**********

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are much appreciated :)


End file.
